


Two's company, three's a Christmas

by lola381pce



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Feelstide, Feelstide 2016, First Christmas, Friendship, M/M, Natasha's First Christmas, Relationship(s), Strike Team Delta, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: Feelside 2016 Prompt (75)Phil & Clint give Natasha her first Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Does what it says on the tin - hopefully!

Natasha stood outside Phil’s door hand raised, poised to knock but stopping short of the act itself.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been to her handler’s apartment. In fact, she probably spent more time here or at Clint’s than her own place but she couldn’t remember an occasion when she’d ever been… nervous before. But then, she’d never been here at Christmas before.

Natasha Romanoff did not celebrate Christmas. Or Thanksgiving. Or any other holiday. She’d been taught early on by the Red Room that holidays were a weakness, one that could be easily exploited. A target’s guard would be down – they would be more trusting around strangers making it a perfect time to kill them. She had used it successfully herself on several occasions thus proving the premise.

However it appeared the two people she was closest to had other ideas about how she would spend Christmas this year.

She’d been invited by both Clint and Phil to spend it with them. She smiled despite her uncertainty remembering the different approaches of each man; Clint – bouncy and annoying, like Tigger on uppers, or a child that constantly whined “are we there yet?” He hadn’t given up until she rolled her eyes and told him she’d think about it. Delighted, he’d gone to pull her into a bear hug but the raised eyebrow she’d shown him as though challenging him to do just that (and see what happens) was enough to stop him in his tracks. He liked his balls where they were thank you very much. But his grin would have brightened the darkest night and finding it impossible to resist, she smiled back at him.

Then there was Phil – calm and nonchalant, casually throwing the invitation out there as they discussed After Action Reports. When she’d politely turned him down claiming to be rostered for duty (which technically he should know being her handler) he’d added, in a somewhat cavalier attitude for a senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, that he may have “misplaced” her paperwork. She had stared at him, unblinking. Phil Coulson never misplaced anything. He’d stubbornly refused to look at her apparently finding something of enormous interest in the report in front of him but the tips of his ears had pinked up and she knew he knew she was watching him.

She also knew he had infinite patience (he would need to with Clint in his life) and could probably wait her out indefinitely. As she had no particular inclination to find out if that were true she gracefully accepted which was met by a muffled squeak of excitement from ventilation shaft above them. This time Coulson did meet her eyes and together they completed a fairly epic eye roll.

***

So here she was, on Christmas morning, standing outside Phil’s apartment too afraid to be asked in.

Natasha knew how important Christmas was for her best friend and her handler since they’d finally got their heads out their asses and declared undying lust for each other. Phil was well aware of Clint’s mostly shitty childhood and nowadays the S.H.I.E.L.D. senior agent went all out to make Christmas special for him. It was their time together.

And another reason for her not to be here...

She lowered her hand and turned away from the door to retrace her steps down the hallway when it opened behind her.

“Leaving already?” a soft voice chided her.

She turned back to face Phil… in the most hideous Christmas sweater wearing [reindeer antlers](https://www.pams.co.uk/images/product/25653.jpg) and a red nose which had the audacity to glow at her. For a second she just looked at him in disbelief before her face cracked and she started to laugh. Quietly at first but it soon built to produce several very un-lady like snorts. And it only got worse when Clint joined him in the doorway in his elf ears and [stripy hat](http://www.cartoondollemporium.com/forum/pics/cdeblog/2013/12/Screen-Shot-2013-12-12-at-11.56.55-AM.png) not to mention an equally ugly sweater. Completing the look he’d rouged circles into his cheeks.

“Tasha’s laughing,” the archer said in wonder, wrapping his arm around Phil’s waist touching his lips to his cheek in a gentle kiss. “Really laughing.”

“A Christmas miracle,” his handler agreed returning the gesture, holding out his other hand to Natasha to welcome her. In turn, she held out her bags to Clint who immediately let go of Phil eagerly accepting them. With child-like excitement Clint peeked inside the one with brightly coloured Christmas wrapping making appreciative noises while he led the other two inside.

“Идиоты! (Idiots!)” Natasha said when she managed to get herself under control. Love was for children however she cared deeply for both men – another weakness, but one she couldn’t deny herself.

The air in the apartment was filled with the scent of spices and hot chocolate; the pair had been baking. Both Phil and Clint were excellent cooks (or masterbakers as Clint would insist then give a lewd wink) and she knew she would put on more than few pounds over the next day or two. No matter, there were always junior agents who would need combat training… the pounds would soon come off again.

Clint scurried off to the Christmas tree while Phil waited with her, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall as she took off her snow-covered boots and hung up her equally weather-beaten coat. 

“How was the journey across?” he asked knowing she’d have taken the subway then trudged the last part through the drifts to get there.

“Surprisingly alright. It’s still quiet and the snow is dry. Are you going to keep that ridiculous nose on all day?”

“Clint finds it attractive,” he said with a half-smile giving it a squeeze but not, she noticed, actually removing it.

She rolled her eyes. “Clint would find you attractive wearing rags and a paper bag on your head.”

“How did you know what we got up to this morning?” Clint called from the tree where he was setting out the presents Natasha had brought with her. Not very polite but she forgave him. However she didn’t forgive him for his smutty innuendo.

“No! It’s too early to hear about Phil’s prowess in the bedroom,” she moaned, clapping her hands over her ears as she joined him. Phil headed to the kitchen / diner.

“It’s never too early to hear about Phil’s prowess in the bedroom,” countered Clint, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s always too early to hear about Phil’s prowess in the bedroom,” corrected the man himself reappearing and popping a fresh baked Santa cookie into the archer’s mouth to shut him up. He held the plate out to Natasha who helped herself to a snowman.

“Yay! Cookie!” Clint cheered taking a bite before pausing to pout at his partner. “I thought you said I couldn’t have any til after breakfast.”

“Anything to spare Tasha and I your bedroom talk! You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?” he asked her.

She shook her head unable to speak with a mouth full of sweet, crumbly heaven. The Black Widow might look petite and dainty but when it came to Phil or Clint’s baked goods she was, quite frankly, a pig (as incidentally were Hill, Sitwell and Fury). And these were Clint's legendary cinnamon, cranberry and pumpkin seed cookies - crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside and only appeared during the festive season. All-in-all a highly prized delicacy… and still warm from the oven.

“Good.” Phil nodded with approval before disappearing back into the kitchen although not before deftly blocking Clint’s attempted theft from the plate which resulted in another pout accompanied by a whine of “Aww, Phil!”

However, skilled as he was, the senior couldn’t quite outmaneuver two highly trained assassins with sneaky ninja skills and Natasha swiped another couple as he passed perilously close to her. Phil gave a much put upon sigh as he left the pair in the lounge beside the tree.

“Whatcha get me?” Clint asked accepting one of the spoils she held out.

“Rude!” she told him and snatched it back.

“Aww, Tasha, no!”

Unable to bear the pathetic look he gave her, made so much worse by the elf ears and painted cheeks, she relented and returned it. He grinned and shoved the entire thing in his mouth in one go. A wicked look in her eyes, she dropped to her knees on the floor beside him and poked him in the ribs to make him laugh (or choke either would be considered a win). Inevitably this turned into an all out tickling match with Clint’s long, knobbly fingers against Natasha’s elegant but deadly ones. It was a close contest but when Clint sprayed most of what was left of the cookie out of his mouth with a loud and fairly gross snort of laughter, Tasha declared herself the winner.

The noise resulted in Phil tentatively putting his head round the door to find out what was going on knowing none of it would be good. He opened his mouth to say something to the untidy mess of bodies (can two people be an untidy mess of bodies?) on the floor before closing again, shaking his head at them instead - no-one was injured and nothing was broken. Counting it as a win, he returned to breakfast duties shutting the door firmly behind him.

Grinning, Natasha untangled herself from Clint and lay with her head on his shoulder gazing up at the tree. It was adorned with dove grey and purple strands of tinsel and a mix of antique and modern handmade ornaments some of which were Phil’s, others he and Clint had found together. Both men had an excellent eye and unsurprisingly, it was beautiful. She told him so.

He smiled shyly and nodded. “I never really had a nice tree til I started seeing Phil. He kinda insisted.”

It didn’t come as a surprise to her. It was just another way of Phil making Clint feel special.

She flicked one of his elf ears. “So this absurd look… is this what the two of you usually do at Christmas?”

In a comfortable position with one hand behind his head, the other wrapped around Tasha’s shoulders, Clint responded. “Nope. Usually we spend the day naked in bed so I hope you appreciate the sacrifice we’re making having you here, missy.”

Natasha snorted then realising he probably wasn’t joking, she slapped his thigh. “No. Bedroom. Talk. Or I tell Phil.”

“Tell Phil what?” he asked returning from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee - Clint’s black, scalding hot and so strong you could almost stand a spoon in it, Natasha’s also black but less likely to be used to hold up wallpaper. Both sat up to take the mugs from him and inhale the caffeine before taking a mouthful. Perfection!

Neither specialist responded to his question but Clint’s hang-dog expression (even his elf ears seemed to droop) made him look decidedly guilty. Phil however he decided not to pursue it - probably better he didn’t know in any case. Instead he pointed out that Natasha appeared to be missing something. Clint stared at her then did a literal facepalm. He passed his mug to her, smirked at Phil and got up to disappear from the lounge for a moment before returning with a parcel. It was beautifully wrapped in purple paper with silver and grey stripes tied up with coloured twine. He held it out to her and took back his mug so she could open it.

“We exchange gifts now?” she asked.

“Nope,” Phil told her shaking his head. “This one’s from Santa.”

“And just for you,” added Clint, his eyes twinkling.

The Black Widow was suspicious by nature, or perhaps nurture, but having Phil and Clint watching her like hawks, pun intended, only made her more so.

“What is it?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

“It would ruin the surprise. Go on. Open it!”

“It’s not likely to explode is it?”

“Really? Would we…” Phil paused for a second tilting his head to the side in thought. Actually, yes they had but it was one time and it had been a complete accident; one that would never be repeated. Ever. Probably. He softened his expression and tried putting on his most reassuring tone.

“No, Tasha, it won’t.”

Still doubtful she tentatively began to pick at the pretty string around the package carefully untying it until Clint sighed and reached into the leather pouch on his belt to bring out his knife.

“Use it or don’t,” he told her, “but you’re taking w-a-a-a-y too long, Tasha! You better not be that slow with anything else when we do get round to opening presents.”

She stuck out her tongue at him but accepted the blade deftly slicing through the twine. When she was finished she threw it past his head embedding it in the wall behind.

Phil closed his eyes. Why was this his life? When he opened them again Natasha’s face was a picture. She was horrified but trying not to show it. Normally she was excelled at schooling her emotions but he had to admit the 'gift’ was pretty dreadful.

“So… what do you think?” he asked, keeping his own expression carefully blank.

She looked up at him trying to gauge if he was being serious but Phil was infamous for his poker face and she couldn’t quite tell. It was his eyes that finally gave him away; he couldn't hide the devilment shining in them.

“You two are weird, you know that right?” Natasha asked pulling yet another awful Christmas sweater from the wrapping paper.

“Been called worse,” Phil responded, his mouth curling up at the corner in that little half-smile. It would have taken him ages to find such a frightening example of knitwear but he’d given the task to Jasper who had possibly the worst taste in sweaters. Phil knew if the other agent brought back what he believed to be “the dog’s bollocks” it would actually be the cat’s butthole and perfect for their requirements.

“I really have to put this on?” she protested, holding the sweater up, glaring at it as though it had somehow offended her personally by its mere existence which, in fact, it had.

“We did,” Clint smirked. “C’mon, Tasha. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“Apparently still in the bottle.”

Secretly she was delighted with the gift no matter how hideous it was. She loved it because Clint and Phil had given it to her. They had included her in their nonsense and that made her feel she belonged with them today and not gatecrashing their personal celebration. She tugged off her hoodie and pulled the Sweater of Bad Taste on over her t-shirt.

“It's… lovely,” said Clint clamping his hand over his mouth and turning his face away. The asshole was trying not to laugh.

“Look at it this way, if you spill anything on it we’ll never know,” Phil told her in what he believed to be an encouraging voice however the slight twitching of his lips told her he was also trying to hold back his laughter. More subtle... still an asshole. A fact she thought she’d share with them.

“You’re both assholes!” she told them looking down that the offending item.

“So you won’t want this then?” Phil asked producing a [Christmas parcel headband](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e2/3b/c2/e23bc23601c4333c700e3f1c793e3e51.jpg) complete with tinsel and bells from behind his back. She raised her head and rolled her eyes then started to snort again. She pointed at her head and he leaned down to carefully put it on for her.

“Perfect,” he said grinning. “Eggnog French toast for breakfast? Be ready in ten.”

Phil was as good as his word. Ten minutes later the three of them were sitting round the table in the kitchen/diner tucking into a breakfast of said French toast, bacon, scrambled eggs and maple syrup; cranberry eggnog cornbread scones; and pumpkin cinnamon rolls along with fruit juice and more coffee. For the first five minutes eating took priority and no-one spoke. That’s not to say there was silence. In fact there were a lot of happy and contented noises as they made short work of the pile of food before them.

“Aw, Phil, babe this is… it’s almost better than…”

Both Phil and Natasha pointed their forks at him giving him warning looks which clearly meant ‘don’t say it’ but he’d timed it well; their mouths were full, his wasn’t.

“Sex.”

Sadly however he’d forgotten they had feet and squawked when both shins were kicked simultaneously. It still hurt even if they were barefoot. Without looking at the other, Phil and Natasha fist-bumped then continued eating. Clint pouted at their ganging up on him before giving up - they were ignoring him anyway - and shovelled more food into his face.

Eventually when they slowed down, Phil started a topic of conversation which would pretty much set up the rest of the day. Well… until 13:00 hrs at least.

“Top three Christmas movies. Tasha?”

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment then answered, “ _A Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life_....”

“Booo!” interrupted Clint “Not as voted for by the dull general public. As voted for by rootin’ tootin’ Strike Team Delta. Try again, contestant number one.”

Natasha rolled her eyes however he did have a point, kind of. After consuming another couple of mouthfuls she said, “ _Rare Exports, Long Kiss Goodnight, Home Alone_.”

This time Clint nodded. “Awesome choices. Congratulations, contestant number one, you’re through to the next round. Contestant number two, Phil Coulson from Manitowoc, Wisconsin. So Phil…”

“You’re such an asshat,” Phil laughed but he entered into the spirit of Clint’s show host style. “Hard to argue with contestant number one, but I guess I’d have to go with _Die Hard, A Nightmare before Christmas_ and… _Trapped in Paradise_.”

“Interesting choices, contestant number two. Good job! But you’re both wrong. It has to be _Lethal Weapon, Scrooged_ and _Gremlins_ with a bonus of Brave.”

“That’s not even a Christmas movie,” protested Natasha.

“Doesn’t matter - it’s awesome at any time of year. Plus it’s a bonus movie. Who said it needed to be a Christmas one?”

That prompted further discussion with all three of them talking at once, interrupting each other to defend their choices or pick fault with the others and laughing together. Additional movies were shouted out; _The Grinch, Elf, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Frozen, Trading Places_ …

Conversation came and went much like the food until eventually they’d eaten their fill and sat back to finish their coffee in contented silence.

“I’ll do the dishes,” said Natasha, resting her hand on Phil's shoulder as she got up from the table. “You two go and relax.”

“Nope, you’re our guest for today,” replied Phil graciously and Clint nodded in agreement. “Stay though. Talk to us.”

She briefly considered arguing with him; he’d made breakfast it was only right that she cleaned up however she knew it would be futile. Phil would win. Even though they weren't on an op or even at S.H.I.E.L.D. he'd pull rank and order her to stand down.

So instead she nodded and jumped up to sit on the kitchen surface as he cleared the table and Clint selected a playlist on his Stark-player. The archer flashed her an amused smirk telling her they had it down to a fine art; with him washing and Phil drying it would take no time at all.

At least that had been the theory. In reality it probably took three times longer than it should have.

 _Shall we build a snowman_ from Disney’s _Frozen_ to which Clint knew every word (and by default so did Phil… honestly sometimes living with Clint was like living with a kid but she knew he wouldn’t have it any other way) belted out of the speaker. It was followed by _All I want for Christmas is you_ \- which the pair sang as a duet making Natasha laugh as they acted nauseatingly sentimental. She’d seen Phil and Clint act as a couple on undercover ops several times and they had been totally convincing but since they’d actually gotten together a few years previously she realised now it had lacked the genuine affection they clearly had for each other.

Something tightened in her chest as she watched them and for a second she had the feeling, once again, that she shouldn’t be here intruding on their special day together.

However, that changed when Phil in a totally unexpected maneuver, swept her off the counter and danced with her round the kitchen as he joined in with _Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree_. With anyone other than Phil or Clint she would have pulled away (and probably killed them, or at least maimed them a little). She didn’t like to be touched unless she initiated it but they were Strike Team Delta. They had bathed in blood together; killed their enemies together; rescued their friends together; drunk, eaten and slept together. Suddenly she realised they - Phil, Clint and she - were family. They had each other’s backs… always. They wanted her here and she should stopped fighting it. And finally, she did.

She relaxed into his arms until the song finished then she gave him a brief but tight hug. He was surprised by her show of affection but happily returned it nonetheless.

“You good?” he asked softly.

“I’m good,” she smiled back at him. “Although you still look ridiculous with those antlers and that nose.”

“Says the woman with the parcels and tinsel on her head.”

Oh yeah. She’d forgotten about that.

Dishes finally done, they retired to the lounge to watch movie number one of the day… _Scrooged_. As was customary when the three were together, Clint lay sprawled over the other two until they got fed up or too hot which happened quicker than normal thanks to the ugly Christmas sweaters that they stubbornly refused to take off. With a huff he sat upside down between them, knees bent over the back of the couch, back on the seat cushion and his head almost hanging off the edge. It passed without comment from the other two; they were no longer surprised when it came to Clint’s seating arrangements. But he did get a “There, there" when he nearly choked laughing at the scene with Bill Murray trying to fix the antlers onto the mouse.

Before they knew it, it was 12:45hrs.

“What does that mean?” asked Natasha.

“Fifteen minutes to go.”

“And?”

“You'll see.”

With five minutes left, the apartment was beginning to buzz with excitement. Well Clint was beginning to buzz with excitement.

“Go get your boots and things on,” Phil instructed. “And take off your elf ears.”

“You're not coming?” asked Clint in surprise, prising off the left one.

The other man shook his head. “You two go. I'll make a start on dinner.”

“But Phil…”

Phil kissed the archer gently on the lips and pulled off the right ear. “And if Walter's an ass put him on Tasha's team.”

A minute before 13:00hrs the three of them were standing by the window. On the nose of the hour a snowball struck the glass and exploded. Natasha was intrigued by the whole thing.

“Whooo hoooo!” yelled Clint and grabbed her hand dragging her to the door.

Phil laughed before pushing open the window responding to the invitation with a returned snowball aimed at the apartment opposite. There was a part of him that wanted to go down and join the other two with the kids that were beginning to assemble on the sidewalk but he thought that they would enjoy the time together. The Annual Christmas Snowball fight, started a decade ago when a couple of neighbourhood kids had tried to ambush him (and failed… miserably), would survive without him as it had done on previous years when he been on missions; or recovering from missions.

However he wasn’t missing out completely; all three of them were wearing comms. He’d know exactly what was going on and would be able to guide Clint and Natasha from the apartment if required. It would be like running any other Strike Team Delta op. Kind of. Except perhaps for the fact running ops didn't usually involve pelting kids with snowballs… or making Boeuf en croute for that matter. The dish was his speciality and a firm favourite of both Natasha and Clint. When asked what she would like for Christmas dinner Natasha had requested it and he was happy to oblige.

An hour later precisely (measured by someone’s mother hollering out of the window for the kids to “Get your asses back inside before you goddamn freeze to death!”), Clint and Natasha returned with glowing noses and ruddy cheeks just as Phil had finished his Christmas dinner preparations.

As the two of them tumbled onto the couch out of breath but obviously very happy, Phil appeared from the kitchen with mugs of his other speciality, chilli hot chocolate. Each drink had mini marshmallows floating on top, some of which had melted into a sticky goo. It smelled divine - sweet and spicy and chocolatey - and the pair held out grabby hands making Phil smile as he handed the mugs over. Seriously, sometimes they were more like kids than highly trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Probably something to do with their stolen childhoods, he thought sadly careful not to let it show on his face.

Clint took a mouthful and let out an obscene groan. Wisely though he didn't follow it with an obscene comment, lesson learned from the morning (he swore he could feel the bruises forming on his shins already).

“Awesome, Phil,” he said instead, giving him a chocolatey kiss. “The gang missed you.”

The other man raised an eyebrow.

“So I heard,” he replied dryly. Walter - the bain of Phil’s existence for the past ten years or so from the age of four - had made a comment about the senior agent having finally admitted he was too old for the fight.

Both Clint and Natasha snorted out a laugh.

“You should have seen the boy's face when your snowball hit him,” Natasha grinned, a wicked glint in her eye. Phil gave her back a satisfied smirk. Being on comms also meant he’d been able to get revenge on the remark with a direct hit to the back of Walter's head. The snowball had exploded on contact and melted between his neck and jacket making the teenager scream bloody murder.

“Too old for snowballs my ass,” they heard Phil murmur darkly in their ears before he closed the window and went back to his seared fillet of beef to cover it in a blend of mushrooms, shallots, pâté and parma ham before enveloping it in an intricate, hand cut weave of pastry.

While they drank hot chocolate and ate some of Clint's cookies they filled him in on how the battle had unfolded. Although he'd been on comms the whole time it was fun to have the pair tell him about it arms waving animatedly, their faces lit up.

Being on Natasha's team appeared to have knocked the edges off some of Walter's more misogynistic tendencies. Apparently now, after seeing Natasha in action, he believed girls were _probably_ more than just eye candy and could actually be _useful_ on occasion. An improvement certainly but it didn’t stop him from being “accidentally” tipped into a snowdrift and pelted with snowballs. Phil had watched from above with an approving smile.

He gathered the mugs and suggested showers for the pair would be in order to get them warm on the outside now they were warm on the inside. The suggestion was greeted enthusiastically by Natasha however Clint reckoned he always had difficulty reaching his back when he showered alone. The hungry look he gave Phil caused a blush to spread across the older man's cheeks and he ducked his head giving Natasha an embarrassed side glance. He couldn't quite hide the grin though.

The not so subtle hint and lack of protest received an eyeroll from Natasha who claimed first use of the hot water if Clint and he were aiming to do some “private” Christmas celebrating.

An hour or so later, they were back on the couch warm and in the case of Phil and Clint, happily sated, watching _Die Hard_. All three of them knew it inside out - it could be found in many a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse throughout the globe - and were able to quote whole chunks of the dialogue. It didn’t stop their enjoyment of it though and as a pissed off John Mcclane crawled through the air vents, “Only a little less gracefully than you, Little Bird” Natasha pointed out much to Clint’s annoyance, the three of them recited the scene along with him, each taking a line.

“ _Come out to the coast_ ,” Phil.

“ _We’ll get together_ ,” Natasha.

“ _Have a few laughs_ ,” Clint.

At the end, when Mcclane’s ex-wife punched the reporter on the face much to the satisfaction of all, Clint stretched and declared war on the vegetables.

“You want some help?” To her credit Natasha did at least _try_ to sound enthusiastic about it.

Clint gave her a much put-upon sigh and flounced into the kitchen without bothering to respond. He knew perfectly well she didn’t mean it.

Phil shook his head at Natasha’s evil smirk. “[Crazy eights](http://www.bicyclecards.com/how-to-play/crazy-eights/)?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded. Already regretting the suggestion Phil dragged himself off the couch to find a pack of playing cards. Natasha, with her fiercely competitive streak, was a terror at the game. Maybe Dave Brubeck ("Snoopy music" as Clint called his style of jazz) and some wine would help. After setting up an album on his turntable he brought over a bottle of red he’d left open to breathe earlier and poured himself and Natasha a glass. He poured a third and took it through to Clint receiving a long and very pleasurable thank you kiss for his trouble.

“Oh dear god! Do you two ever leave each other alone?” Natasha groaned when he returned with red and swollen lips.

Phil gave her a cat-that-got-the-cream look and sat down to deal the cards. “A few years ago you were all ‘ _I’m done with all this damn pining. Grow a pair, Phillip Coulson. Tell him how you feel._ ’”

“You’re beginning to make me regret that decision,” she told him poking his leg with her toe. However her soft smile belied her true feelings. That was until ten minutes later when she had trounced him at cards. Then it was she who wore the smug look.

They played another couple of rounds until Clint came back through, with Phil actually winning one of them much to his delight. Another Christmas miracle. They dealt him in and played a few more as they drank their wine and chatted. Occasionally Clint or Phil would get up to check on the food as it cooked. All in all it was chilled and relaxed and Natasha loved it especially with the fine smells wafting through from the kitchen every time the door opened.

Like breakfast, Christmas dinner was amazing. The Boeuf en croute was cooked to perfection. Crisp golden puff pastry on the outside with the beef beautifully pink on the inside. The trimmings were pretty much as you’d expect to find for the festive season except for Brussel sprouts which were conspicuous by their absence. And not because of Clint as might have been expected but because of Natasha. She called them ‘Evil Tasting Rancid Fart Balls’ and refused to have anything to do with the little green veg. There was a story behind that but neither Clint nor Phil had managed to prise it from her. And probably never would although… challenge accepted!

Afterwards while Natasha and Clint cleared the table, Phil put together a plate of everything they’d eaten and popped it in the still warm oven. He tugged on his worn leather boots before giving Clint a kiss and apologising to Natasha for leaving but he'd be back soon. While he retrieved the plate, the archer disappeared into the lounge and came back with one of the gifts from under the tree which he handed to Phil making him smile and pull him into a one-armed hug.

“Is this another strange ritual the pair of you have?” Natasha asked as their handler headed to the door.

“Nope,” Clint replied. “This one’s all Phil’s.”

As they put the leftovers into tubs and set about washing and drying the dishes he told her about Phil’s Christmas tradition with Frank.

When Phil had moved into his apartment a decade earlier he was helped by a neighbour down the hallway. He’d tried to thank the man by offering to cook him a meal or take him out for a drink but he waved it off saying not to mention it, he’d been happy to help. The next time Phil saw his neighbour, Frank, and said hi the man looked at him as though he’d grown horns and told him to go fuck himself. It turned out that he was a veteran of several wars, an ex-Marine, who’d suffered a serious head trauma and couldn’t always remember one day to the next. It also left him with terrible mood swings which saw him either gentle as a lamb or with a vicious temper. Within the space of a couple of days, Phil had seen both sides. 

Frank had no family, having lost them a few years earlier, and when he was home Phil would look in on him to make sure he was doing okay. Sometimes the ex-Marine would welcome his company and others by taking a swing at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent calling him whatever came to mind, none of it pleasant. At Christmas if he was around, Phil always took him a plate knowing he’d never accept the invitation to join him. When he was away for the festive period an older couple down the hall took over. They were tough old birds and didn’t put up with Frank’s bullshit.

While the tale unfolded Natasha had remained thoughtful as she washed the dishes. For all he was a serious badass and wouldn’t hesitate to take someone out when he knew it was called for, Phil had a big heart. He never gave up on anyone; she and Clint were prime examples, and although it didn’t surprise her this was a side of him she knew nothing about.

Clint rested his chin on her shoulder. “Penny for ‘em?”

“He’s a good man, isn’t he?” she asked quietly, leaning back against him.

“Yeah,” the archer agreed softly, wrapping his arms around her waist to give her a hug. They stood like that for a few moments lost in their own thoughts until Clint said, “Help me make some mulled cider?”

“Sure.”

***

An hour or so after he left, Phil’s voice was heard behind them, “Something smells good.”

“Great timing, babe,” Clint told him, ladling some of the cider into a mug for him.

Phil accepted the hot drink and inhaled it making a happy humming sound at the scent of spices, apples, citrus and cloves. He blew on it before taking a mouthful which elicited another contented hum.

“Good?” Clint asks.

Phil nodded giving his boyfriend a little half-smile. “Perfect.”

Clint grinned back at him happy that the cider has Phil’s approval. As the archer filled another couple of mugs giving one to Natasha, he enquired about his visit with Frank.

“So are you a Christmas asshole again this year?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. This guy Frank sounded fascinating and must be pretty balsy to call Phil an asshole without repercussions.

“Nope,” he said with an amused note to his voice. “I’m a dick. You’re the asshole!”

Natasha coughed on her cider. “Hot,” she said by way of explanation peering over the rim at them. Clint scowled at her knowing fine she’d more likely choked on a snort of laughter.

“Me? What have _I_ done?” he pouted.

“Same as me probably… well more or less. I’m a dick cuz I left the Rangers to work for a “shady as shit’ government organisation as an oppressed suit.”

“Accurate,” observed Natasha. The other two gave her a sharp look then nodded conceding the point.

“Whereas I…?”

“Gave up being an assassin for hire and a merc to work for said ‘shady as shit’ government organisation.”

“Accurate,” Natasha stated a second time. Clint shrugged. He really couldn't argue the point.

“How does he know who you work for?” Natasha observed taking another sip of the cider. Clint and Phil stared at her. _That_ was a very good question. Phil was obviously annoyed with himself that he hadn’t actually noticed it before. He must be slipping. Yeah… this guy Frank? Fascinating.

They took their drinks through to the lounge… it was present opening time! Clint appointed himself guardian of the presents positioning himself by the tree, making Phil and Natasha sit on the couch as he read the tags and handed the gifts to their intended recipients:

a leather-bound Easton Press First edition of A Christmas Carol from Clint to Phil - he was thrilled with it carefully touching his fingertips to it with reverence;

a beautiful handwoven woollen throw in a herringbone design from Clint to Natasha - it was ridiculously soft and she draped herself in it unable to stop running her hands over it which made him laugh;

a custom made three finger cordovan single seam glove and buckled armguard based on the Strele design, both in a deep purple leather from Phil to Clint. He’d also given him a beautifully illustrated book on Kyūdō, the Japanese martial art of archery which almost made him lose interest in all the other presents;

from the same leather craftsman he’d bought Clint’s gift, Phil had a pair of holsters made for Natasha’s hand guns - overjoyed, she insisted on trying them on even though she’d left her guns at home;

Natasha’s gift to Phil was a limited collector’s edition 1:16 diecast model of a cherry red Chevrolet Corvette convertible which had him squeeing like a fanboy;

a Bitzenburger Fletching Jig and clamp along with a Spigarelli Gua recurve arrow rest that he’d been hinting heavily at for the past few weeks from Natasha to Clint - but he feigned surprise as he opened the arrow rest making her roll her eyes at him.

There were other smaller things hidden in large stockings that had been hanging up near the tree; things like chocolate Santas, candy canes oranges etc. which they dug into with child-like enthusiasm. Delighted with their gifts the three of them settled on the couch to finish their mulled cider with Natasha lying across the two men, her head on Clint’s lap, feet dangling over Phil’s legs.

She had been impressed by Clint’s control and the fact that he hadn’t exploded with excitement but this seemed to be the way Phil and he did Christmas so she didn’t question it. Everything she’d heard about the day from others was that the main activities consisted of opening presents (the most important) and whining if you didn’t get what you wanted; falling out with family for no apparent reason, or because at least one relative was a drunken moron; and overindulging on food and drink (okay, that last one they were probably heading for). But she had found today… chilled and relaxed. The importance was on family and enjoying each other’s company; of spending time with others and taking care of them; of snowball fights and vegging out in front of the t.v. watching movies they’d seen a dozen times before. The whole gift-giving thing came at the end of the day.

Clint flicked through the channels until he found… _The Long Kiss Goodnight_ which appeared to have just started. He grinned and looked at the other two who nodded with smiles spreading across their own faces. It was another movie they had watched a zillion times that had many memorable quotes. Once again the three of them played off each other with the best lines usually involving Mitch Henessey (although Phil had the uncanny knack of making him sound like Nick Fury, which when they thought about it, he actually kinda did).

By the time it ended, the trio were about ready for bed which, once it was suggested, had them yawning like sleepy kids. The spare room had been set up with fresh sheets in the morning for Natasha so all she had to do was fall into bed with her throw before she was out like a light… for a little while at least.

At 01:00 hrs while they were asleep, the door to Phil and Clint’s bedroom opened and closed silently as [Natasha sneaked in](http://klaine03.tumblr.com/post/71720821751/soniclipstick-requested-head-canon-for-me). Phil was lying on his back, his lips slightly parted with one arm tucked under his pillow, the other beneath Clint; the archer was half snuggled into his own pillow and half into Phil, arm draped over his boyfriend's stomach. As he heard the soft footsteps padding across the room, he reached behind him and pulled back the cover holding it up to Natasha who slipped into bed beside them.

“Night Tasha,” he whispered, sleepily.

“Night Little Bird,” she replied as she spooned in behind him.

“You have a nice time?” murmured Phil.

“I did. It was a wonderful first Christmas. Thank you both.”

They had drunk, eaten and slept together and none of them moved again until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I put links in the story to wonderful artwork available on tumblr by kkachi35 and klane03 because they are my thoughts exactly about the dynamic of Strike Team Delta. I love them and I hope the artists don't mind.


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